


Touch Myself

by rispacooper



Series: The Slutty Boys 'Verse [7]
Category: Psych
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Case Fic, First Date, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-25
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People asked for Shawn and Lassi’s first date. Seven in the SBV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So that’s when Detective Lassiter ended up wrestling with an armed suspect in a batch of stir-fried squid?”

Vick’s voice is dry and business-like, but Shawn’s still pretty sure she’s holding back a laugh. Judging from the slight twitch that Shawn sees in Lassi’s lanky-yet-sexy frame out of the corner of his eye, Lassi must be pretty sure too.

Shawn almost shoots him a look, but since Lassiter isn’t speaking, the Chief is directing her curiosity at _him_.

“I _still_ don’t understand how you happened to be at the same restaurant. Especially this one, I’ve never even heard of this place.” Jules scrunches up her nose to ask, and it’s a total coincidence that Shawn and Lassi turn their heads at the same time to stare at her. The same way it’s a coincidence that they both happened to be here, which, yeah, really isn’t a coincidence at all.

Lassi reacts first, being the action-over-words type, and ignores her to face the Chief again. He’s probably going to go with the whole coincidence thing anyway, when he _does_ finally decide to speak again. He hasn’t said a word to anyone in the last ten minutes and he hasn’t said anything to Shawn since he’d shoved Shawn into a bathroom with one large hand half an hour ago and ordered him to “Stay back, Spencer, and try to stay quiet for once in your miserable life”.

He hadn’t really looked at Shawn either since then. Not once. He had plenty of looks for the first officers on scene, for the Chief, for Jules, even for the suspect, but Shawn hadn’t even caught a hint of a glimpse of a glance in his direction. And every time he does say something, he can see Lassiter tense up, which isn’t good, since Lassiter’s jaw was already clenched so hard he could have used it to crack walnuts.

Anyone watching would think that Lassiter didn’t like him. It _was_ a little disheartening, considering the way the evening had started, with, you know, Lassi actually showing up.

“No,” Lassiter answers the Chief finally. The fact that it’s just the one word is probably not a good sign. Shawn is also pretty sure, despite Carlton’s never having been in the military, that Lassi is standing at attention, with his chin up. That can’t be good either. But it’s not his fault this time, really it isn’t.

This time he does dare a look over. It only takes a second to see that Lassi’s jaw is still tight and that his hands are in fists at his sides. Shawn moves in his direction even though he shouldn’t, and catches the Chief’s notice at the same time that Lassi stands so straight it’s like someone shoved a pole up his ass.

First rule once he figures out what is going on in Carlton’s head: nothing gets shoved up that tight-looking ass without Shawn’s say so. Though the first rule is a very distracting rule. Maybe it shouldn’t be first, more like the second, and the first can be all black suits for Carlton, all the time. Except for when he’s naked, which would be like an addendum thing to the first rule, though then the rules are getting complicated, when the ultimate point of them should just be that Shawn owns Lassiter until such time as he no longer wants Lassiter to play in his sandbox.

Which, yeah, seems like a strange thing to want even now after countless, horrifying conversations with Gus about this exact thing—conversations no less horrifying for Gus, judging from Gus’ constant and immature attempts to make himself throw up—and too-numerous-to-recall-now jerk off fantasies.

The Chief gives Shawn a longer, harder look and Shawn yanks his eyes off Carlton and sucks in a breath, the lies and the truth already intermingling at the forefront of his brain, years of evasion experience coming in handy just when he needs it.

“No, the squid wrestling happened after. Toward the end really. You should have seen it, Lassi almost had this guy pinned until he slipped on the pile of squid heads…” Oh no. Shawn can feel his mouth twitching upward, because Lassi _had_ wrestled a guy in a big pile of squid and rice. He looks over again and coughs at the sight of about a hundred grease stains along the back of Lassi’s suit, and the bits of rice still clinging to his pants…the tentacle dangling from one ear. He looks up just in time to see Karen—the Chief—bite her lip as she stares at the very same tentacle.

Jules makes a noise. It might be a cough, if you were being generous, and also slightly deaf, and had never heard a stifled giggle before in your life.

Lassi breathes out, long and slow and loud. The restaurant workers are continuing to serve customers, but Shawn can hear the Chief clear her throat even over their noise. She has to do it twice before she can straighten out that hint of a smile. Lassi just breathes out again and curls his hands into tighter fists.

Neither of them really seems to appreciate the workers’ calm, considering that there had been two men in handcuffs in here just a few minutes ago, and that there were several cops taking up space near the entrance.

“Perhaps we need to take this from the top.”

“Exactly! I’m only too happy to,” Shawn jumps all over the chance to distract himself, and the Chief, from Lassi’s…situation, though the smell isn’t helping. He didn’t even get a chance to order any pineapple fried rice and Lassi smells like dinner. No matter how pissed Lassi gets, Shawn is still ordering something before he leaves. Though maybe he ought to tip very, very well.

“See, the suspect was working as a busboy at the restaurant, and my eye—Eye Number Three, that is of course—was drawn to all his negative energy and I went over to Lassi here…”

“When I arrived at the restaurant the busboy was at my table. When I sat down, I moved my jacket and my badge and gun were clearly visible. The busboy—the suspect—flinched and ran to the back.” Lassiter butts right into his speech, using a flat voice that Shawn had last heard in a Seventies cop movie, like any minute now Lassi was going to pull out a .44 and go Dirty Harry on the whole restaurant.

Chief Vick leans back instantly at his tone and crosses her arms, something that reads patience and disbelief at the same time. Though it shouldn’t, Lassi’s statement was probably true. Shawn hadn’t been there for the very beginning, and okay, yes, Lassi could blame him for the being late part. But it had only been a few minutes, and after all, Shawn clearly wasn’t the only one who had worried about what to wear tonight.

“I assumed he was probably an illegal, as many restaurant workers are, but I still found something in the suspect’s manner suspicious.”

Yes he had. He’d talked about it for two minutes straight after Shawn had arrived and sat down. People usually accused Shawn of talking too much. This time Shawn had arrived, only a minute late, possibly five, to find Lassiter already there, wearing a black suit jacket Shawn had never seen before, and fiddling with a glass of water—only the first and most obvious of the half a dozen tells that had radiated anxiety.

Which was stupid because he’d looked good. Nervous, but good. Anxious was a nice look on Lassi. Not nearly as good as turned on or pissed off Lassi, and no where near as amazing as Lassi had looked, just sitting there and fidgeting and waiting for Shawn, oblivious to Shawn pausing in the doorway to study him.

 _Lassi_.

The name had just…shot through him when he’d seen Lassi sitting there, which is incredibly sappy and Gus’ soap operas must be rubbing off on him. It had most likely just been surprise making him feel so…stunned and out of breath… Not that Shawn hadn’t fully expected Lassi to show up; if he said he was going to do something then he did it. Carlton is a reliable type, just like Gus, always there when you need them to be. If you want someone there, which maybe Shawn had wanted all along even if he hadn’t known it, because he’s pretty sure that not seeing Lassi there might have sent him running as far from Santa Barbara as he could get.

Sure, Shawn gives _outstanding_ head, but Carlton didn’t even like him most of the time. Sometimes he even thinks Carlton hates him, times like right now when he can’t even get a hint that Lassiter is anything but royally embarrassed and furious at being embarrassed. And he _knows_ Carlton doesn’t trust him, at least not much, because when he had looked up and seen Shawn there his face had frozen in genuine surprise. Genuine, like the unfakeable kind, real, dilated pupils, flushed skin, soft mouth.

Surprise that had quickly turned into a scowl at his being late, and that had made his name jump out again, right in front of Shawn’s eyes, and he’d been smiling and dancing forward, because of a _scowl_.

Come to think of it, he kind of still wants to run. Somewhere very, very far away. But he’d have to get something to eat first, and say goodbye to Gus, and Jules, and then Lassi would be stuck here explaining this all to the Chief, and Lassi is a horrible liar, couldn’t keep anything off his face, not even surprise.

So Shawn has to stay, it’s just that simple.

Besides, Lassi had bought a new suit for this, a black one. Dark, just like Shawn had asked him to.

Lassiter looks good in black, his suit sleek and shiny, his tie rich enough with blues and purples that Gus could have picked it out. Shawn would almost feel underdressed for the first time in his life in his unbuttoned dress shirt and his white t-shirt, even though both of them are clean and wrinkle-free, and he knows he looks good in green and also he knows that Lassi disapproves of his clothes, and how it makes him scowl even more.

Carlton had been waiting for him, and maybe there had been that sick, falling feeling in his stomach but seeing Lassi had made it ease a little, enough for him to smile and clear his throat and get Lassiter’s blue eyes up to his face.

He’d stopped to watch Lassiter’s eyes travel quickly up and down over him. When he had finally swallowed Shawn had been able to smile again and plop down in his seat.

“I…Spencer…you…” Lassiter had started, standing up as though Shawn was a lady—which of course if he were female he so would be—then sitting down. “You’re actually here.” If possible, Lassiter had managed to put volumes of disapproval into his tone. Which would have totally sucked if it hadn’t obviously been a cover for how much he’d been sitting there and fretting in his Lassi way. Though the lack of trust was really getting annoying; Shawn had never done anything but help the Lass—well yes and have a bit of fun at the same time, but mostly helping. And standing someone up…that was just cruel.

So all he had said was “So are you, Lassipants,” and then enjoyed the wide-eyed alarm on Lassi’s face before Lassi had abruptly frowned and twisted around to look toward the kitchen.

“I…Did that guy seem weird to you?”

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Lassiter is going on to the Chief, and the shamefully poor quality to his lies brings Shawn right back into the moment. “But when Spencer…when I saw that Spencer had…when he was also at the restaurant, I asked Spencer if he could…”

Shawn perks up, waiting for Lassiter to admit that he had wanted him to do something psychic. Jules makes a little noise like she gets it too and when Shawn tries to direct a grin her way, actually catches Lassiter’s eyes blazing at him.

Shawn grins anyway out of reflex, his heart beating just a little faster.

“Do a little detecting?” The Chief finishes carefully and Shawn’s grin falls. Carlton, being Carlton, sighs a little and looks back at her before he gives a nod. The Chief’s smile gets bland. Really, it’s like the blandest tribute to blandness ever and all sorts of warnings go off in Shawn’s head, like six car alarms at once, like that moment of silence where he’s still halfway in/halfway out of his bedroom window, right before Henry’s hand lands on his shoulder. He forces his attention back to Vick just in time. “…It’s an incredible coincidence that the both of you happened to be at that restaurant at the same time to catch an international diamond smuggler.”

Her voice has gone dry again. Shawn holds her gaze and does his best not to visibly react. The fact that this should also keep her from noticing how pale Lassiter suddenly gets is just another coincidence. Not that the first one is really a coincidence either. Which she obviously suspects. But suspicion isn’t proof, and that’s what’s important. Henry could never prove anything either. Almost never. Okay, he’d proved it once in a while, but only when Shawn had been younger and careless.

He resurrects his grin and makes it even wider, then spreads his arms like he’s going to hug the world. Even the restaurant workers pause for a moment to stare at him.

“Almost like it was prearranged,” Vick muses softly, then taps her finger against her mouth. She is _definitely_ suspicious. Lassi twitches again, but considering the way Shawn has everyone’s eyes on him, he doesn’t think they noticed.

“What can I say? I must have been drawn there.” Shawn throws in some jazz hands and uses the opportunity to glance over at Lassi again. Lies work best with some truth in them and big, loud distractions are the best kind of distractions. But when his voice rises, Lassiter looks at him again, and the blue eyes fixed on him are wide and scared, and not in the sexy, “you are not about to jump me in the closet, Spencer,” way.

Shawn has a sinking feeling he’s going to be dealing with a miffed Lassi later. Possibly even more than miffed. That excited feeling he’d had earlier just feels like panic now, and he spins away from Lassiter and gets even louder, loud enough to make the Chief put out a hand and give him the universal mom gesture for “quiet down”.

“Anyway, so I had to go to the little boy’s room while I was waiting on my food and I happened to catch a glimpse of the guy that Carlton would just not shut up about.”

Okay, that’s almost true, except he hadn’t actually had to pee. It was more like he’d had to do something that wasn’t running and wasn’t sitting still. Gus’ rules hadn’t said anything about making conversation, and even Shawn knew sex talk was out on a first date, unless it was naughty, naughty innuendo, and the busboy incident had seemed to be bothering Carlton, and all of Shawn’s attempts at leering insinuations had met with frowns or, worse, a red face.

Then of course, there had been the fact that Lassiter just kept staring at him and occasionally starting a sentence without actually finishing one. Faced with that level of awkward, the bathroom had seemed a good choice.

“So…” Had been the first one. Shawn had been tapping out Rihanna’s newest single on the table and eyeing the slight sheen to the white shirt Carlton had worn with his new suit. The shirt was new too, if Shawn wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t. It fit Carlton almost snugly, and really, where was Carlton getting his fashion advice? Anyone other than Jules and Shawn might have to say something about it.

He’d thought about saying something at the time, but Carlton had been alternating furious stares between the table, and his hands, and Shawn, and the waiter, and the back where the busboy had gone. And while Shawn had meant to be teasing, all the tension coming off Carlton had said that maybe teasing hadn’t been the way to go, and then there had been the fact that if Carlton _hadn’t_ gotten dressed with Jules’ help, whose help had it been?

So he’d sat up gratefully at Lassi’s single word, and Carlton had leaned in.

“I had a case today…” Shop talk. Shawn had been trying to keep his expression from looking _too_ eager when Lassiter had abruptly scowled. “ _No_.” His cough had been forceful. “I’m not…it’s not...” Lassi had shut up after that, and after a moment of waiting with no result, Shawn had leaned back again. It really was a nice tie; he would have noticed if Lassi had worn it before. Well, he would have noticed any tie, but he would have taken time to study Lassiter in a tie like this one.

“Spencer….I….” Lassi had tried again a moment later, then knocked back his finger of scotch the second their waiter set it on the table and ordered another one. He’d twitched to find Shawn sitting there looking at him, though Shawn still wasn’t clear on where exactly he would have vanished to unless Lassi really thought he had superpowers, and then pushed the empty glass away.

“Spencer you…” Lassi had begun in a quiet voice, but glancing up and seeing Shawn’s careful smile had seemed to take all the gentle right out of him. He’d cleared his throat and pulled at his collar.

The slightly disheveled look on him…not distracting at all. Though it had taken Shawn a moment to focus on Lassiter’s new conversational attempt. Which had just been the first attempt, tried again. Lassi’s dating skills sucked, and if Shawn had been able to think of anything to say that wouldn’t have pissed Lassiter off, he might have remarked on that. But that had definitely been included in the piss-Lassi-off category. “That guy didn’t look familiar? I swear I’ve seen him before.”

“Lass, I didn’t see him,” Shawn had pointed out and reached out to touch the new suit that Lassi had probably just bought for this. A date suit. A date with Shawn Spencer suit. A suit that was making the whole no-sex-on-the-first-date thing seem like a very stupid idea no matter how many Gus lectures he’d had to sit through. Black and blue and white to go with Lassiter’s black hair and blue eyes and white skin and it was almost like he’d wrapped himself up like a big JCPennys bon bon for Shawn to unwrap.

That was the purpose of a date. He could hear Gus’ voice even now, even with Gus safely at home and waiting with his cell in his lap, half-worried, half-grossed out about Shawn dating Lassiter at all. You study your present, shake it around a bit, try to see past all the fancy wrapping to figure out what you’ll be getting later if you’re very good.

Which doesn’t really work when you’ve already seen some of the present you’ll be getting later and all you’re thinking about is removing the wrapping. Also, Shawn _always_ knows what’s getting, and he wants this, and he wants it now.

Though even with Shawn’s hand on his sleeve, Lassiter hadn’t seemed to notice any of the long, heated come-fuck-me stares. He never had, really. If his wife had been this obvious and Lassiter had still stayed this focused on his cases, it was no wonder how that had ended.

Of course, she probably just hadn’t been obvious enough. If Lassiter hadn’t been a cop, and if Shawn hadn’t really, really loved the rice here, he would have tried a lap dance to get his point across. Lassi seemed to like those. They could always talk cases later. Once he had Lassi’s attention.

“Maybe on a wanted notice…” Lassi had gone on, looking down once at Shawn’s hand on his arm and then quickly pulling back his arm. When his eyes had come up, Shawn had made sure to pout at him. Lassi’s momentary stillness had totally been worth it. “Probably ought to…” There had been a small, quiet minute, and then when Shawn had given Lassi a stare that could have melted iron bars, Carlton had blinked. And turned an especially brilliant shade of pink. Brighter than salmon. Almost a rose.

“I was…I shouldn’t…That is…Victoria always said… This is a da...” He’d shut up just as abruptly as before and scowled down at his hands before grunting. “You watch the news last night? I mean…you watch…um… _Friends_?”

Shawn couldn’t help laughing, especially when it had made Carlton scowl.

“Lass, _Friends_ ended like over a year ago. Two years ago. Maybe even three.”

“HowthehellwouldIknowthat?” The mumbling had been low and quiet and just when Shawn had finally deciphered it, Lassiter had snapped at him. “What the hell do you want to talk about then, Spencer?”

“Mr. Spencer?” The Chief’s voice sounds exactly like Mrs. Fester’s—Mrs. _Lester’s_ —in the fifth grade when she’d asked him a question knowing that Shawn hadn’t been listening.

Shawn snaps out of his daydreaming—which really is careless of him even if he knows how to get away with it—and lifts his eyebrows just enough to indicate that _of course_ he’s been listening. He doesn’t look over at the reason for his carelessness, especially since Lassi is busy not looking at Shawn again.

“So you caught a glimpse of him and just… _knew_ …he was a diamond smuggler?” Even having worked with him, the Chief sounds dubious of Shawn’s claim. Which wasn’t bad, since it was a lie after all; it had been more than a glimpse. It had been _two_ glimpses.

“No, he wasn’t the diamond smuggler, Chief. The busboy was his accomplice. The smuggler was working as a chef.” Lassiter steps forward just when Shawn is about to, and Shawn shoots him a look but Lassiter is speaking and staring right at Vick. Which means Vick has to look back at Lassiface, and that’s interesting, in a gallant but unnecessary rescue kind of way, unless Lassi is just doing it to make sure Shawn doesn’t embarrass him anymore. Then it’s considerably less gallant and more irritating. And anyway if Lassi is Gallant, that makes Shawn Goofus, and that is just ridiculous…well that is just…insulting…and bad…and a misrepresentation of Highlights magazine.

On the other hand, possibly the only thing more entertaining than frustrated Lassiter is Lassiter trying to be calm when he’s still really frustrated. Except of course that he’s frustrated at Shawn most likely, and if he’s planning on throwing Shawn against any walls, he really ought to do it soon, because even greasy and covered in squid, that suit is doing things to Shawn’s brain. And that he’d always secretly wanted Goofus to mess Gallant up a little.

The accomplice had expensive shoes on for a busboy and had stepped into the alley in the back to talk on a Blackberry. Really, the fact that he’d been more than a busboy had been so obvious even Lassipants had noticed. Probably noticed the shoes on some level, and it had probably been what had been nagging at him the whole time he’d been supposed to be on a date with Shawn.

Luckily, Shawn didn’t mind cop talk, at least not much, especially not when there was a chance he’d have something to solve and wow Lassi with. And there was always the fun of distracting Lassi when the man was trying to be serious.

Of course, when he’d told Lassi that—just the first part because he really isn’t Goofus—he’d gotten a look, _that_ look, like Lassi didn’t believe him but wasn’t going to argue now. Then Lassi had argued with him anyway, leaning in to point a finger at him and grunt. “You’re probably just sniffing around for more cases for you and Guster.”

Shawn’s carefully constructed look of shock and outrage had made Lassi snort, and really focus on him for the first time since Shawn had sat down. Shawn had made a mental note; when lap dances and blow jobs were not an option, talking about a case and pissing Lassi off was still an effective means of getting his attention no matter how much Gus says that annoying someone is the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do on a date.

Though Lassiter must have learned the same rules of dating that Gus had; his interpretation of two people who like each other eating dinner and not discussing cases or fighting with each other was just…incredibly strict…and totally unrealistic…and unfair…and completely impossible for someone like…Carlton…to follow.

“Nonetheless, Spencer, according to you, this is…” The fever pitch in Lassi’s voice had dropped a bit to finish, his face staying pink, “…a date.”

“According to that suit, this is a date…” Shawn had tossed back, smiling, because nobody did frustrated, pinched off glares like Lassi. He clearly had not been expecting that answer. But really, like Shawn was going to argue when it had taken him a week to get up the nerve to get Lassiter to ask him out. When Shawn had just blinked back in response, Lassi had made a face like someone had been twisting his underwear from behind. Then he’d looked down again and his scowl had actually faded away for the half a second it took for Lassi to remember that he was _Lassi_. “You couldn’t have worn a suit?”

Roughly translated, that probably meant Lassi thought he looked nice, and wasn’t pleased about admitting it.

“Aw, Carlton, you look good too. That suit new? Even the cut’s not bad. And the black…with your coloring…Kind of a winter, aren’t you? Well it’s good, not that I mind all the blue all the time, but this…is approaching smoking hot.”

Shawn really doesn’t know what he’s done to get the look distrustful looks from Lassiter so often. Honestly, the storage closet incident had been for the man’s own good; he’d been far too tense that day.

Lassiter had just given him the same fierce frown he had aimed back at Shawn after pushing his way out of the closet. “Spencer, I swear to God, if you are messing with me…”

“And _that’s_ when Detective Lassiter ended up in a brawl in a pile of rice and squid?” The Chief is getting impatient, and her sharp glare says she knows Shawn’s holding something back. Of course, she could aim that at everyone just on the off chance that she’s right. Henry had been a master at that one.

“Well no,” Shawn jumps back in when Lassiter opens his mouth, “that’s when Lassi…”

“That’s when Spencer here decided he had to use the restroom.” Lassi flings out a hand to silence him and it’s so surprising that Shawn actually does shut up for a second. Though it could be from the commanding stare that Lassiter turns to give him, the “I’m the Head Detective and I’m in charge here, Spencer” look.

Shawn lets out a loud sigh and leans toward Lass at that, audience or not. Lassiter actually blinks back at him, obviously confused, before he quickly turns back to the Chief. He tugs at his collar a moment later.

Lassiter had picked out that suit himself, it turned out, though he had admitted—under the pressure of Shawn’s hand creeping up his leg under the table—to asking Jules if he ought to try a darker color. Then he had swatted Shawn’s hand away.

“What the hell kind of dates do you usually go on anyway, Spencer?” he’d finally demanded, tugging at his collar and then pulling loose the knot of his tie with one slender finger, the exact way he had torn away the tie Hornstock had been wearing.

Shawn goes still the way he had then, lets his hands fall down. Nobody is looking at him at the moment anyway, they are watching Lassiter try to bullshit his way to the part where he finally arrests both suspects. He’s going to have to skip over a lot. Like shoving Shawn into that bathroom and leaning closer to whisper into his ear, or how Shawn had done something, not necessarily stupid, but maybe not his brightest move, by bringing up something _again_ that he knew he shouldn’t have talked about.

“I think the question is what kind of dates have _you_ been going on, Lassi?” He had tried smirking but then Lassi’s eyes had fixed on him and one look at the scorching blue and Shawn had suddenly known with greater than ninety percent certainty that their first date was about to also be their first fight. Because he hadn’t really smirked much at all, and his voice had done this weird trembling thing that gave entirely too much away, because he knew exactly what kind of dates Lassi had been going on, and after blurting it out at that strip club, Lassi knew that he knew.

Mentioning exes on a first date…even Shawn knew that was a bad idea. Even Lassiter probably knew it was a bad idea, and he had horrible luck with dates. Except for with H-stock, where things had progressed to hot, dirty monkey-lovin’ a whole lot faster than they had for Lassiter and Shawn, which might have been why he’d asked, not that Shawn was going to examine the cold, unsettled feeling in his stomach that came up every time he even thought about Hornstock.

H-stock was his friend, and a decent attorney. He even had good hair now. There’s absolutely no reason for Shawn to wish that he’d fall down one of those open drain things and spend his life trapped in the sewers and become King of the Alligators.

Though he had pulled out his phone under the table to ask Gus what those things were called.

“What the crap does that mean?” Lassiter had managed to keep his voice down, but he’d grabbed Shawn’s arm without a single guilty glance around the room to see who had been watching. It had been Shawn’s turn to pull his hand away and then wave it around airily.

The feeling in his stomach? Totally just hunger. And he’d been so hungry that when Gus had texted back “manholes” he hadn’t even laughed once.

“I just meant it didn’t seem to take long for you and H-stock to find what you had in common,” Shawn had answered as lightly as he could, and then recalled in HD quality imagery Lassiter fucking Hornstock in that office.

He had been the one who should have been close to puking considering how tight his gut had felt. But Lassi had been the one to flinch.

“That’s low even for you, Spencer,” he’d bit out finally, his voice low and rough, close enough to his sex voice for Shawn to shiver, close enough to “That’s right, Spencer, beg me,” that Shawn still goes all weak and then close to hard just thinking about it.

The obvious answer had never even once occurred to him, and once it had, he really should have been afraid, that was just a little on the obsessive side and Lassi already had some tendencies toward stalker. But even right now with the Chief glaring at them and Jules all adorably confused, he is seriously thinking about begging just to let Lassi know it was okay.

Creepy, yes, but he’d sent a stripper over to see the same scene played out again, so… so…what? This was exactly the sort of realization that required Gus’ input. But the only way he’d had to ask Gus had been to answer all the buzzing texts Gus had been leaving on his phone that said things like “wth shawn?” and “so?” and “y r u talking about manholes?” and then “never mind. don’t tell me.”

“I have to use the little boys room,” Shawn had announced, jumping to his feet and heading straight to the back before his brain could do more than register the way Carlton’s shoulders had slumped and his face had gone blank.

It was the same look on his face now, devoid of all possible emotion as he answers the Chief, lying outright now, or maybe not, saying he had been relieved to see Spencer go.

Except he hadn’t been, or his cop instincts had kicked in

Lassiter had reached out to grab him.

“Don’t, Spencer.” The hand on his wrist had stopped him more than Lassi’s tone, though the quiet timbre in Lassi’s voice was definitely chill-inducing, a naughty sort of way. Except that Shawn’s heart had already been beating too fast, and Lassiter had looked serious and he had let go the moment Shawn had swung back to face and flashed a grin.

“Don’t what?” Batting his eyelashes, a move Shawn had never really understood anyway, hadn’t seemed to work on Lassiter.

He glanced around, but then leaned forward and really, with the black suit, it had been all Shawn could do not to stare into deep, bright eyes. Not that he had tried very hard.

“You’re about to lea…” Carlton had cut himself off and turned back to the table, taking another drink of scotch. When he had turned back his eyes had been very, very blue and Shawn had been considering sitting back down and even apologizing, which, _totally weird_ , when his phone had buzzed in his pocket again.

“And that must be Guster. Some emergency going to call you away?” Lassiter had remarked sharply and ignored Shawn’s frown. Lassiter could _not_ be expecting Shawn to run, just because Shawn always ran, just because he’d been wanting to since the moment he’d first realized that he’d wanted to play Good Cop, Bad Cop with Lassi, just because he had sat outside the restaurant on his motorcycle and thought about going to visit his mom instead of coming inside. A drive across country would be nice this time of year.

But he _had_ come inside, and he’d followed Lassi around, and the _Psych_ office was still there, and even Lassiter should see something that obvious.

“What? Psh. No. Of course not, I…” Admitting that he had needed Gus to know what to do was still out of the question. “Are you trying fierce interrogation techniques on me, Lass? Cuz that’s sexy, but we can play that game later.” He had leaned back down, letting his lips graze Lassiter’s ear, forcing Lassi to look at him and holding his gaze and then had spoken as seriously as he could. “But right now I have to make tinkle.”

Lassiter had blinked once at his whispered, only-partly-true confession, going still, and Shawn had ducked away before Lassi could say anything, like maybe point out that he was still lying, even if it was for the cause.

Then he’d rushed toward the bathroom. Which is next to the kitchen, and the alleyway out back.

Honestly, Scout’s Honor, cross his heart, he’d had no idea what he’d been running into.

“And when I got to the bathroom, I just got this flash…sparkles! Shine! Bling! Bling-bling like nobody even says anymore, except possibly middle-aged cops like Lassi here.”

In the kitchen, which he hadn’t been able to resist peeking into, there had been three chefs, but only one of them looking over his shoulder every few seconds, and hinky hadn’t even begun to describe the guy.

Lassi’s gut feeling about their busboy hadn’t been all nerves. Shawn had shoved his phone back in his pocket and forgotten all about the restroom.

Playing lost customer and getting close had let him see that that guy had had a Blackberry, the new model, the not-even-on-the-market-yet model, though he’d been wearing the kind of cheap sports shoes that were more practical for being on his feet in a dirty kitchen all day, as Shawn had learned about during his one week as a fry cook

He had also had tattoos in what looked like Klingon—revealed to be Dutch after Shawn had snapped a picture and sent it to Gus—and a face Shawn had seen on cable news a few months back, and on several notices at the station since then. The kind of face Interpol was looking for. The Feds. Not the kind of face someone expects to see at a known-only-to-the-locals Thai restaurant. He hadn’t even known international diamond smugglers _could_ cook.

No wonder Lassi hadn’t instantly placed them as smuggler and smuggler’s accomplice.

So he’d text-discussed it with Gus and they had mutually agreed that he ought to hide in the bathroom and call Lassiter.

“So after some discussion, Lassifer Lopez and I decided that the situation was worth looking into.” He’s not sure if it’s the new nickname or the outright lie that makes Lassi look at him again. “What? Stretching a little? You’re right, Lass, I feel like that one might be stretching.”

“If you could _please_ get to the point, Mister Spencer, I have to get home by nine.”

“Right, well, Lassi had picked up in the middle of his “Paint It Black” ringback—he must really be into sitars or something—and we consulted on the best course of action.”

“Spencer.” Lassi had not sounded surprised at his call, just tired, sad. Which, since he was Lassiter, meant he had sounded ticked. “Cat on fire? Your grandmother up a tree?”

“Actually, my grandmother wouldn’t call me if she was stuck up a tree, something about how irresponsible I am…and no, I’m calling because I just got some total vibes telling me that you might be right about that busboy being up to no good.”

“What?” Sometimes Lassi was a little slow. To be fair though, that’s exactly what the Chief says, when Shawn relays that part of the conversation to her.

“I think there are some very bad men working in this restaurant. This is not good, and not just because they are going to be arrested and then there won’t be anyone to make my dinner and all I had for lunch was leftover noodles and a stale fortune cookie.”

For one moment, Lassiter had just breathed out.

“How bad?” Lassiter had wondered after that pause, and with his whole psychic explanation ready, it had still taken Shawn a second to realize that Lassiter hadn’t asked for an explanation of anything.

“Not good. I’m not sure if they were moldy or if that was just tofu,” he’d said anyway, for the sake of his reputation and then went on over the sound of Lassiter grinding his teeth.

Closing his eyes, Shawn can recite the Interpol notice word for word. But to Lassi, and to the Chief and Jules, he just says something about stolen property, smuggling, and the bright red hands of dirty, dirty murderers.

“Goddamn it, Spencer!” Lassi had exploded immediately, as hopped up and excited as he always got over a potential arrest. “You’re about to do something stupid, aren’t you?” Lassiter had demanded and then growled again before Shawn could have managed an answer anyway. Really, Lassiter’s growl had been almost sweet. “Well don’t. Where are you?”

“So Spencer hid in the bathroom and I called O’Hara before proceeding to the kitchen.” Lassiter interrupts Shawn’s pleasant trip down memory lane, still completely in professional cop mode.

Hid. Shawn snorts so the Chief and Jules will know that that part is a lie. He would never hide while Lassi and Jules took out the bad guys. Well, hardly ever.

Sure, yes, Lassi had ordered him to stay put, breathing hard and obviously tense—his “this could be dangerous, you idiot, just…stay where you are,” before hanging up had not left a lot of wriggle room—and so Shawn had stayed where he was. For about a minute. And then when it had still been quiet and Lassi hadn’t shown up or called him back, Shawn had opened the door and poked his head out.

The very second he had Lassi’s hand had appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt and shoved him right back in.

Carlton had had his gun in his other hand too, ready for action, and he was doing that whole fierce-clenching teeth thing with his eyes narrowed that was just so…hot. Though really, gun…on a date…unless he’d just come over from the station, that was a little weird.

On the other hand, he’d been going on a date with _Shawn_ , fake psychic extraordinaire, and the gun had turned out to be useful, and again, _hot_ , so maybe it was alright after all. More than alright. Maybe Lassi was turning psychic too.

Putting his hand on Lassi’s waist…and then his ass…that had been reflex. How had he been supposed to know that Lassi would give a little girly shriek of surprise and then the busboy would turn the corner and see a cop with a gun and freak out and start yelling and then everyone in the kitchen would start to run for it?

Then Shawn had had to run for cover and also pull out his phone to make sure Jules brought some more cops with her, and also keep an eye on the two guys in the kitchen who _weren’t_ worried about their immigration status because there’s no way Lassi could track two of them without backup.

Tripping the running busboy so he fell into the bathroom and then leaning—okay, crouching to protect himself from any potential gunfire—against the door to keep him there, that had been one thing, watching bowls of partially-cooked food go flying and then seeing the diamond smuggler _and_ Lassi both land on their asses on the floor and scramble for Lassi’s now-greasy gun…priceless.

Tense, but also priceless, from what he had seen in between ducking and pressing against the bathroom door and trying to silence his cell phone when Gus had giving up on texting and called him to find out what was going on with his date and the slightly embarrassing sounds of the ringtone had had chosen the week before to embarrass Gus had drawn everyone’s eyes to him. Then the other guy, the real smuggler, had used Lassiter’s hesitation to reach for the gun and Lassi had grabbed a metal bowl and clocked him with it and then sort of skidded to a stop on his stomach. Like he’d been on a Slip-N-Slide. A Slip-N-Slide made of squid parts.

First Highlights magazine and now this. One more childhood memory hopelessly corrupted.

“So Mr. Spencer informed you that he suspected the man, and when you went into the back, they were _somehow_ alerted to that fact that you were police…” The Chief sums it all up with a doubtful little lift to one eyebrow.

“ _Somehow_.” There it is again, that low, threatening quality in Lassiter’s voice. Shawn peeps over and tries a grin. The glare isn’t really what he wanted to see, but at least Lassiter is looking at him. Just like with the Dollhouse case, somehow Lassi is going to blame that fight on him, when Lassiter was the one always jumping in to wrestle guys to the ground.

Really, he’s starting to think Lassi has been gayer than Seacrest this whole time.

“And squid wrestling and general chaos ensued…I see.”

“To be fair, it wasn’t really squid wrestling. I mean, he wrestled _in_ the squid, not _with_ it.” Which, as an image, is possibly the grossest ever. _And_ it makes him think of that horse thing in Star Wars that Han had cut open and shoved Luke into. Gus will know what it’s called. “I have the video on my phone, if that helps.”

“Be quiet, Spencer!” Lassiter gives up on professional to snarl at him right as Jules hops forward to see it. She jumps back at his tone and Vick’s other eyebrow goes up. Lassiter clears his throat and seems set to ignore the fact that he totally fails at sounding reasonable. He looks away from Shawn right as Shawn is about to explain that he’d just been helping gather evidence by recording the scuffle and emailing it to Gus with the subject header “Youtube?”. One hint of that glare and Shawn lets his jaw snap shut. “That’s when I apprehended the suspect, yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I see.” Vick swings a long, slow look between the two of them and Shawn has the itchy feeling that she really does. “Is that a new suit, Detective?” she asks a moment later, rolling her shoulders and glancing at the door. Shawn lets out a breath, though not too obviously, and nods even though he shouldn’t. He’s smiling too, because Lassiter had bought that for their first date.

“It _was_.” It doesn’t sound like Lassiter is smiling. Shawn looks at Jules, who can see Lassi’s face at the moment, and she looks sympathetic—and mildly disgusted but also sympathetic—considering that she most likely thinks Lassi’s date came in here, took one look and then ran for her life, sympathetic makes sense.

It’s strange, because really, tentacles aside, Lass doesn’t look all that bad. No worse than usual. Hair stiffly in place despite the tussle on the floor, his suit still impressive for a divorced cop’s salary. And seeing all the other cops around would make this obviously official business, any nice girl should completely understand. Lassi must date some total wackos. It’s a good thing that Shawn is here to save him from all the nutjobs.

“Well then I guess it was a good thing you both had a craving for Thai food on this particular night.” Something in Vick’s voice…it’s not at all dismissive despite what she’s saying and how she’s turning away, and Shawn stops imagining cat fighting with some office bimbo for not properly understanding the incredible, yet freaky and dorky, mess that it is Carlton Lassiter even if it had taken Shawn a while to get a taste for it too, and tries to study her closer but she shakes her head again and glances at her watch.

“It’s too bad the evening didn’t end the way either of you gentlemen seems to have planned, but it was fortunate for the department, and good for your arrest record too, Detective.”

There’s no Gus, and Lass isn’t looking at him, but the other man flinches so Shawn guesses that Lassiter is worried about what the Chief thinks too. Lassiter angles his head enough that Shawn can see his jaw tighten, and then with a nod Lassiter stalks over to the cops waiting at the door.

“I hope you get a chance to enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Spencer,” Vick remarks, already taking out her cell phone and calling her nanny. All he can read on her is distraction, focus on her home and her child. Nothing other than that, not a single twitch or tell.

“Uh…Say hi to your nephew for me,” he manages and she doesn’t even wave as she leaves. Where did she learn that to keep her face blank like that? Had she been talking to Henry?

Shawn blinks, shutting his mouth, and then switches on a smile when Jules finally gets her chance to approach him.

“Poor Carlton,” she starts the second they are alone, and she’s still keeping her voice down, out of respect for Carlton’s delicate feelings.

“We never even got a chance to eat,” Shawn remarks in the same quiet, disappointed tone, then lifts his eyebrows and stares back with wide eyes when Jules looks at him oddly for a moment.

“I meant how Lassiter’s date obviously took off,” she goes on slowly, tossing her head and confirming Shawn’s theory about what she’d assumed. “That’s the fourth one this year. He just keeps letting work interfere…”

“You wouldn’t have left a date to make the arrest?” It’s a dumb question and he cannot believe he’s slipping enough that he’s asked it. Jules scowls at him. Not a real scowl, a cute, dainty one. She probably thinks it’s real. It makes Shawn try a serious face in return, just so she’ll do it again.

“Of course I would have. We have a responsibility.” Her support of the Lassiface is very reassuring. So is the way she turns around to give Lassiter a comforting smile, which, if he sees it, he totally ignores. He might not, he keeps jabbing his finger at the two officers at the door and talking without actually opening his mouth very much. “He just keeps picking people who can’t understand that.”

“What?” Shawn’s brain notices the word choice of “people” the same second that the question comes out of his mouth. Jules whips back around to look at him for a moment, then shrugs and turns back around to watch her partner.

What? Had everyone picked up on the fact that Lassiter was a meat eater before he had? At this rate, even Gus and Henry and _Buzz_ had probably known before him. If that is what Juliet had meant, and Shawn is pretty sure it is. He is a disgrace to fake psychics everywhere. Which means he’s a disgrace to _all_ psychics, so maybe he ought to say fake detectives. Except that he’s a _real_ detective, so… It’s all too much to think about on an empty stomach.

“But this one must have meant something, for him to buy that…” Jules’ distracted wave could be at Lassiter’s suit, or the tie, or both. She lets out a long sigh before Shawn can try to decipher that part too, and then straightens her shoulders. “Maybe I ought to stick around, keep him company. This place is interesting…” She pauses to take a look around at the décor, local street signs and pictures of small-time celebrities and regulars that make it look more like an Applebee’s than the typical Thai restaurant. Shawn barely even notices them anymore, even the picture of him and Gus in the southeast corner, just over a booth.

Gus should have forgiven him by now for grabbing his man-boob just as they’d snapped the picture; holding onto anger that long, it was just unhealthy.

“No!” The word bursts out of him as Juliet’s words sink in and then Shawn clears his throat and makes a point to check his phone while Jules gives him a confused, alarmed look. He has two voicemails from Gus and a _lot_ of unopened texts, also one missed call from Henry. He hits ‘ignore’ on that one before he looks back up. “Company is the last thing he’ll want. This is Carlton Lassiter we’re talking about. Trust me.” The vague psychic whirling motion he always makes seems to calm Jules down enough for her to frown and nod.

“You’re probably right,” she agrees. “Maybe I’ll just take over the booking for him, let him have the rest of the night off—if he’ll take it.”

“Well we— _he_ never got to eat, and I know I’m still hungry.” His voice actually trails off as his gaze goes right back to Lassiter. Inside, his brain and all his finely-honed skills for surviving a childhood with Henry Spencer are screaming for him to look away, but he’s not, not at all, and he doesn’t even know if Jules is looking at him, because across the room, Lassiter lifts his head and sees him.

Warm, he is seriously warm all over, sick from all the panicking, yes, and still freaking out, check and check, but mostly warm, hot and achy. Shawn breathes out carefully, and wets his lower lip. It’s either the flu or he’s got a Lassiter love-jones.

Lassiter reaches up to tug at his ear, then his collar, then pulls his eyes away.

Without another word to the other cops, Lassiter storms past them, past the tables, toward the back, to the kitchen and the alley out back, and to the bathroom, the room where all their troubles always seemed to start.

“I don’t think he’s in the mood for paperwork,” Shawn remarks at last, letting out a breath to see Jules look back at him, which meant she hadn’t been looking at him before, which meant she probably did not just see him staring. See the _both of them_ staring, which was not only embarrassing but also the kind of thing to piss Lassiter off like no skinny, almost-divorced Irish cop had ever been pissed off before.

Jules just nods like she agrees and aims an apologetic smile his way before skipping over to the doorway. She’s already got her head up in a take charge mode that is just as hot when she does it, and Shawn really should have picked up on his fetish for cops in charge before, but then that would lead to all sorts of Henry issues, and that is just…icky in a Dateline kind of way.

Shawn watches her for about thirty seconds and then heads nonchalantly in the direction of the bathroom. Nonchalantly, so no running, or checking his phone, which is buzzing again, or calling out, “Lass-i-ter” with a Southern accent like the bad guy in _Cape Fear_.

From the narrow hallway he can hear water running from inside the bathroom and lots of angry swearing from the now-understaffed kitchen workers. One waiter even glares at him as he hurries past with a tray of steaming, delicious-smelling food.

“It was hardly my fault,” he starts to explain to absolutely no one right as the bathroom door swings open and Lassiter stops dead to glare at him.

The tentacle is gone. So are a few of the grease spots on the white shirt. The skin of Lassiter’s face and neck look damp, and his hairline is darker too, like he just cleaned up. He’d probably been itching to do that for about twenty minutes now.

“The suspects?” Is all Lassiter says, grunts really, and Shawn waves his hands toward the dining room.

“Jules has them. She said she’d book them for you since you’re obviously…busy washing up.” He thinks it’s a good save. Lassiter’s eyebrows snap together though, and his glare gets so accusing that Shawn drops his gaze to his clothes.

“You ought to take off the suit at least, get it dry-cleaned right away. It’s…nice.” His throat is dry so he swallows, not that Lassi seems to notice.

“Or burn it,” Lassiter grunts again, bringing Shawn’s head up. “Burn it like any other memento of a disaster.” And that’s…unexpected. That’s Lass, always surprising him. Which is not something Shawn takes lightly, not that he can tell Lassiter that, without first looking incredibly uncool and then getting into the whole fake-psychic-abilities-and-here’s-how-I really-do-it thing.

“Maybe I’m being slow here, Lass, but what disaster?” Lassiter’s head comes up too at his words, and Lassiter gives him a full on, wide-eyed stare for about half a minute. Then his voice rises and he’s all jabby fingers again.

“Are you off your rocker, Spencer?” And then Lass flings up a hand in his face before Shawn can ask if Lassiter is secretly over eighty and has only been passing for forty-ish. Off his _rocker_? “I wrestled a man in _squid_.” Like Shawn was going to forget that one anytime soon, even without the video footage. “I shoved you into a bathroom.” Not forgetting that either, thank you, eidetic memory. “And…I…ruined my suit.” Carlton’s eyebrows pull down into something worse than just a frown. He clears his throat and glances down at the floor. He’s always looking at the floor and Shawn’s almost ready to call him on it when Carlton lifts his head and scowls. “That’s…that’s not most people’s idea of a date.

There’s no need to keep pretending, Spencer. The whole idea was ludicrous to begin with,” Lassiter finishes finally, exhaling obviously and loudly.

“Dating me?” Shawn blinks once or twice, select moments flickering behind his eyes like an old movie on 8mm. Moments like the way Lassi had straightened Shawn’s clothes in that bathroom stall, Lassiter turning pink with the surprise of seeing Shawn show up at his little battlefield, and then here tonight.

“The exit is back that way.” Lassiter interrupts his thoughts and hooks a thumb toward the kitchen, settling his shoulders just like Jules had done. Which is the only tell that he has more to say, so Shawn narrows his eyes and waits. It’s…very hard…all this keeping his mouth shut. Dating is serious work. Well, dating with the intent of _more_ dating is serious work.

Lassiter clenches his jaw once or twice. Then clears his throat. “Thank you for keeping quiet…around the Chief.” Lass can keep his voice as low as he wants, the Chief is going to know, but Shawn doesn’t say anything about that yet, as tempting as it is with Carlton acting in a manner that his mother would have said was clearly indicating an anticipation of a later pain. Shawn would have just said he was fronting. Shawn knows all about fronting, Lassiter ought to know that by now.

He steps forward, possibly the last thing Lassi _was_ anticipating, because Lassi has to take a startled step backward. Shawn sticks out a finger and tries a jab or two, poking Carlton in the chest, which is a pretty solid chest, as he recalls, so maybe his jab ends up more of a grope, with his fingers spread out over Carlton’s man-boob.

Further proof that Carlton is a liar after all? That he doesn’t slap Shawn’s hand away this time, not even when Shawn tries a little squeeze. But for Lassi’s benefit he’ll try not to smirk too obviously.

“The only disaster here, Lass, is that I didn’t get to tear that suit off you,” he insists, in the loudest whisper he can manage. Just to make sure he’s heard he leans in a little more too, urging Lassi back across the threshold of the bathroom door. Carlton blinks at him, and then holds still no matter how much Shawn pushes. Then he slowly lifts one eyebrow.

Despite himself, Shawn glances down, then back up before shrugging. “Okay, that I didn’t get any rice, _and_ that I didn’t get to strip that suit off you.”

“You don’t have to prove to me that you’re crazy, Spencer.” Lassiter glances away too, flicking one look back into his face before keeping his gaze fixed on the hallway behind them. His chin is up, and Shawn is going to have to ask what movie Lassi watched to get all these faux-military poses, probably _Heartbreak Ridge_ , or something else with Clint Eastwood, Lassi’s personal idol. What was that one with the monkey? Gus would know.

Still, movies about monkeys aside, it does seem like Lassiter is trying to be serious. Shawn takes a step back, frowning a little when that makes Lassiter let out a sigh.

He scratches at his nose and sweeps a look over Lassi’s stiff body from his stained-pants to his set, tense shoulders, to the blue eyes that still won’t quite focus on him. He doesn’t need Henry to know the suspect is hiding something.

“Lass…you didn’t think that was fun?” He doesn’t plan on it, but it might be real surprise in his voice. Maybe that’s what finally gets Lassi’s gaze on him. “Frankly, I thought you lived for the takedown.”

Lassiter actually snorts and rolls his eyes.

“I caught a diamond smuggler, Spencer!” he says, like that says it all. Considering his whole attitude is “don’t be an idiot, Spencer” it’s strange that Shawn wants to grin. He does, since Lassiter stops glaring at him to study his suit and he can safely get away with it. Lassiter’s hands brush once or twice over the stains around his thighs and then Lass gives another sigh.

“So…you didn’t mind?”

Shawn waits, again, but even asking the question Lass keeps his eyes on his suit.

“Did you ever have a mustache? Because I’m seeing you with a mustache.” Shawn closes his eyes for a moment to convince Lassiter of just how he’s “seeing” that, then opens his them again. “You have on short shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and you’re in my living room, which is also my bathroom and my bedroom, and we’re playing that I’m that millionaire being blackmailed, and you’re Magnum, and I’ve hired you to find who’s doing it, only you can’t resist flirting with me.”

“I am _not_ wearing short shorts,” Lassiter insists right as Shawn reopens his eyes, then works his jaw. “What are you trying to say, Spencer?”

“That I don’t mind when you go all Head Detective on me.” Here he is, being completely honest, and Lassiter just snorts at him and crosses his arms. This is why avoidance and evasion are always better policies.

“Okay, I kind of like it when you go all Head Detective on me.” And yet more honesty just keeps coming out of his mouth. Carlton lifts that single eyebrow again and Shawn hears himself making an exasperated sound and sees his hands go up in what might be the most limp-wristed gesture he’s ever made to date. “And I don’t see why it would end a night that only got started.”

“Really?” Lassiter clears his throat. “All the other… That is… Oh this is ridiculous, we both ought to just go home and go to bed.” Lass just had to say that word. Shawn’s brain snags that “bed” and he has to suck in a breath. He can imagine a lot from what they’ve already done, what he’s already seen, like that Lassiter likes it rough sometimes, that Lassiter’s tall so he probably has a big bed, so the bed will be spacious and the sheets as soft as Lassi can afford, and Shawn had said the floor was okay, but Lassi was a bed kind of guy, and he had promised, promised something else, promised to fuck him on his terms.

His face is definitely red. Shawn tries to focus his attention back on Lassiter and not on the image of himself stretched under future-Lassi on a big, wide bed.

“Because I know you’re just testing me, Lass, I’m going to ignore that invitation for now, just to tell you that I have a thousand other ways to get out of an awkward situation than running off the bathroom or taking a fake phone call.” Shawn’s voice breaks in the middle of that sentence, but he still shakes his head sadly. “Dude.” It’s his turn to give Lassi the “don’t be an idiot” look which at least makes Lassiter’s frown turn thoughtful and his ears turn pink.

But after a pause, Lassiter tosses his head and it’s like dealing with the old Lassi, or like reading every single doubt that had almost kept Lassiter from showing up tonight. The only way to deal with old Lassiter had been to have a psychic vision so compelling that he had had to follow Shawn against his better judgment. As for the doubts…Gus kept stressing that the whole dating thing was about establishing trust, but Shawn didn’t see it. After all, he’d showed up, he’d tried talking about boring stuff, and Lassiter is _still_ resisting his obvious charms. He’s going to have to ask how H-stock had managed it.

Damn. Shawn is going to end up just as frustrated as Lassiter if this goes on much longer.

“See this is where you need to just trust me, Lassalicious.” Shawn flings his hands up in the same gesture as before and sweeps forward at the same time. Big, wide hand gestures are just the kind of thing to keep Lassi from noticing that he kicks the door closed behind him until it’s too late.

Round blue eyes go from his face to the door and then get even wider. Lassiter’s not going to back up, but he definitely has an idea of what Shawn is thinking. Finally. Because Shawn is thinking that it’s easily big enough for three inside this bathroom, that it’s also fairly clean, and that any sounds from inside will be muffled by all the chaos of the kitchen on the other side of the wall.

“Your obsession with bathrooms worries me, Spencer,” Lassi gets out.

“They’re conveniently located and the doors always lock.” Shawn locks the door behind him to prove his point and Lassiter breathes out.

“You know, I think the only thing wrong tonight was the date part.” Shawn frowns, considering every last one of Gus’ rules for a successful date. Dress nice. Don’t talk about past relationships. Don’t get too detailed when talking about work. Avoid unpleasant subjects. They’d pretty much broken all of those, and still caught a diamond smuggler. So they might as well break the last one, the big one, the no-sex-on-date-number-one-unless-you-only-want-a one-night-stand one. Because they had already sort of done that anyway. “Dates like that are for other people. People who don’t get excited when I suggest they play Magnum to my sexy blackmail victim.”

Toe to toe with Carlton again. It felt like forever since he’d crashed Lassi’s reenactment, and, as sweet as that whole encounter had been, and unbelievably sexy, and also sort of dirty, considering they’d had the uniforms on, he’d still spent the next two days itching to jump Lassiter again.

“I didn’t…” Lassiter twitches when Shawn slides his hands under the suit jacket but doesn’t do anything more than frown when Shawn settles his hands at his hips.

“Your pulse jumped and your skin changed color,” Shawn breathes into Lassiter’s collar. He smells like ginger and grease and a little like peanut butter and Shawn’s stomach actually rumbles. Though the shirt is also oily, and his fingers already feel a little slick. He inhales again and angles his head up until his mouth is at Lassiter’s throat. Lassi’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, and Shawn grins as he continues. “Then your gaze shifted up and to the left, like you were imagining it.”

“What was that?” There’s a frown in Lassiter’s voice, like Shawn just said something important and they are going to have a Talk. Which is not good at all. Whatever it is, Shawn does not want to talk about anything.

“Should I even mention what happened below your waist?” So maybe he lets his hands dip a little lower. Sometimes quiet distractions are also useful.

“Spencer.” Lassi turns his name into a choked, little grunt, his whole body tensing when Shawn squeezes his ass this time. He’s thinking that, yes, it _is_ tight, and how Lass has surprised him again when Lassi puts his hands on his shoulders and presses down hard.

He’s hot and ready just at the idea of dropping to his knees again so soon, but Lassiter is frowning at him in a way that says he wasn’t trying to urge Shawn down with that last gesture. In a way that says no matter how much he wanted to, he would never have gone into that bathroom with at _Tom Blair’s_ like Hornstock had, that would never have even occurred to him.

Shawn hums in his throat and then mumbles under his breath for a second about showing Lassi just what a sour face from frustration _really_ looks like.

“What is the hold up? You. Me. Alone. Locked door.” Shawn carefully points out each and every clue leading to the obvious and something else shifts in Lassiter’s expression, something Shawn is manfully going to ignore for the moment. “Normally by now my pants would be around my ankles and I’d be screaming out, ‘yeah, Lassi, work me like a construction worker who needs the overtime.’”

“I know that, I’m not a total idiot despite what you might sometimes think, Spencer,” Lassiter snaps back into the moment and then seems to process the rest of Shawn’s words. He blinks twice and gives Shawn a look that’s as honestly confused as only someone as traditional as Carlton could look.

A moment later and he’s turning red, so flushed with heat that Shawn automatically pushes closer. Lassiter’s still frowning, but he drops his hands and lets them slide around to Shawn’s back. They aren’t quite doing anything as touchy feely as hugging, but they aren’t bumping pelvises in a dirty mambo either. Someone set the Lassi-Bot to ‘Talk’ mode without asking Shawn first and he’s going to have to manually reset him to ‘Screw Shawn’ mode if he wants this to go anywhere.

Shawn gives another squeeze, just in case the lever is back there. Lassiter gives another little twitch and Shawn tries to appear innocent and serious at the same time. Talking. They are talking right now.

He doesn’t know why he’s bothering. For anyone else, except possibly Jules, he wouldn’t have. Maybe it’s because Lassi had specifically ordered Hornstock _not_ to talk.

“I don’t think you’re a total idiot…” He tries and trails off when Lassiter lifts that one suspicious eyebrow. “Okay sometimes I do, I _did_ ,” he corrects quickly, since mostly now he’s just thinks that Lassiter is far too conservative to think outside the box, and that’s what he has Shawn around for so it all works out in the end. “Mostly before, when I first came back to town, but it’s…different now.”

Lassiter just coughs. All that honesty and Lassi just coughs at him, and that eyebrow is going nowhere. “Why?” Lassi asks at last and Shawn just shrugs, taking his own look at the tiled floor.

“Like I know.” That is his first real lie of the night, if he’s not including things he’s omitted or just implied or exaggerated. Lassiter doesn’t anything, just snorts a second later. Shawn brings his head back up and for once gets to give Lassiface the Evil Eye. “Kind of serious talk for a first date, isn’t it? I mean, are we supposed to start having relationship talks this early? Gus didn’t mention that one.”

“How the hell would I know?” Lass snorts again. “My last four dates ran to the restroom and never came back. And please don’t ever tell me how much Guster knows about this.”

“Three dates.” Shawn does the official recount, because after all, he’d gone to the bathroom for a good reason _and_ he’d come back. Therefore, as H-stock might argue in court, he is not to be included in the Ladies Who Leave category. He pushes forward again in case Lassi has somehow forgotten that he’s still here.

Lassiter’s hands tighten, but he’s not pushing him away. A good sign. So is the way his skin is going rosy again. Shawn decides to go with what works and brings up a hand to tug at the knot of Lassiter’s tie. It slides down an inch or two and Shawn watches Lassiter swallow while he works the collar button free.

“So…what is it going to take to convince you?” He steps forward, and Lassi, being a secret bathroom freak no matter how much he tries to hide it, shudders and lets him. Yet, also being Carlton, he still has to defend himself and Shawn accepts that, already nodding his head and making hurt noises against Carlton’s throat.

“Not even the sight of you swearing on a stack of Bibles, Spencer.” Lassi’s answer is actually pretty good, considering that his breath hitches whenever Shawn’s scruff brushes his skin and the way he’s letting Shawn’s hands pull up his shiny dress shirt to explore the plain t-shirt he has quite properly worn underneath. The dress shirt is still greasy but that will easily be fixed by removing it. Shawn tugs the bottom out of his way and gets three buttons near the top loose before he remembers that he’s supposed to respond.

“So no talking then?” Keep the conversation light and flirty, Gus had said, check and check. He and Lassi were going to be pros at second-dating in no time.

“Talking…” Lassiter’s voice rises, nice and rumbly under Shawn’s mouth, and he must be ready to get with the program at last, because his hands slide to Shawn’s stomach and then he’s got Shawn gasping and getting weak in the knees.

Lassi always gets psychic at just the right moments. He urges Shawn back until Shawn’s sandwiched between him and the wall and then resumes driving Shawn crazy.

 _Hand_. Shawn’s brain provides him a single word for way too long, and then lets a few more slip in, like _Lassi’s hand_. And _big_. And _warm_.

Lassiter just cups his package through his jeans for a moment and then while Shawn’s memory is busy shooting out images from the last two times Lassiter has touched him like that, he eases down the zipper. He makes a sound that is definitely smug when he gets that Shawn is already hard.

“I thought talking is what you do best, Spencer.” And no, Shawn can’t really focus enough to tell if Lassi is making fun of him or not, but he can so play dirtier than Lassi in any case. He puts one hand to the back of Lassi’s head and runs his fingers through the short hair. It’s his hair, to play with as he sees fit, he really hopes Lassi understands that. Then he puts his other hand against Lassi’s zipper, and he doesn’t go slow.

“I think we both know what I do best,” Shawn whispers, drawing his tongue along Lassiter’s neck, over the throbbing artery.

“Jesus, Spencer,” Lass breathes out over his ear and Shawn lifts his head, not a lot, just enough to get close to Lassiter’s lips.

“Shawn,” Shawn reminds him, kind of enjoying the way Lassiter goes still and stares at him, obviously uncertain, but still letting Shawn practically kiss the words into his mouth.

“Shawn,” Lass repeats, sound just a little dazed, like he’s remembering things too and then he blinks and glances down right as Shawn slaps a hand to his pocket, and the phone that’s now blaring out that embarrassing 1980’s one hit wonder again.

It’s Gus, obviously. Worried about how things turned out, wondering about the smugglers too, since aside from the video and Shawn’s “we got them” text a few minutes after that, Shawn hadn’t sent him any updates for at least half an hour.

“Gus,” Shawn says out loud, and a panicked look flickers across Lassiter’s face when Shawn reaches for his phone. He starts to pull away and only stops when Shawn grabs the greasy shirt with his one free hand. “He’s worried…” Shawn starts then realizes how bad that sounds. “…The bad guys earlier…” He tries again, and doesn’t miss the fact that Lassiter stops breathing when Shawn just ends the call.

“You can talk to Guster,” Lassiter mutters, scowling for all he’s worth. His gaze is unsteady, dropping to the floor and then to the door, stopping once on Shawn’s face.

“He’ll call back,” Shawn answers right as his pocket buzzes. A moment later another round of the Divinyls starts in again. And really, those lyrics were just obscene and how had they gotten away with that playing on MTV all day and night? Lassi flinches, and Shawn angles his head to study him, frowning. “Anyway, I know exactly what he’ll say. He’ll say…”

“More than anything else, Shawn, more than even getting to know that person, which would be a waste of time anyway since you already know Lassiter and since you know everything about everyone already, or at least think you do.” Gus had been using his serious voice, Shawn had nodded his head just enough to indicate that Gus ought to go on, which of course, he had, like a professor to a very bored class of one. “More than any of that, Shawn, a date is about establishing trust. It’s about communicating what you want, and learning what the other person wants. Which, in this case, is…Lassiter…”

He hadn’t appreciated Gus’ about-to-be-sick face anymore then than he did now remembering it. Luckily, Gus had held it together out of sheer love of lecturing Shawn about anything that he knew more about.

“But whoever it is, Shawn, you have to pay attention, and see what they want, and then convince them that you can be trusted with it.... Are you even listening to me?”

“Communication, trust, finding the scroll at the foot of the statue of Anubis and translating it in time to escape the Mummy, yeah I got it, Gus.” Shawn had only looked up from watching Rachel Weisz struggle sexily in her chains and decode an ancient text at the same time because Gus had been glaring at him.

“Fine. Don’t listen to me. But when Lassiter dumps your skinny ass, don’t come crying to me.” Gus had finished in his usual huff and slumped down at his desk to lose more imaginary money at online poker.

“My ass is not skinny, Gus. I happen to have a nice ass, and anyway you’re the one with the cankles.” Shawn snaps his phone up to his mouth to yell out, and then ends the call and shoves it back in his pocket. He turns a completely calm face on Lassiter a second later. Not that Lassiter is buying it. The man has both eyebrows up now, and his eyes fall when Shawn curves his mouth.

Shawn feels his smile end just like that. And while part of him is wondering just why the _clearly_ implied offer of an awesome blowjob doesn’t do it for Lassi, the rest of him is playing over Gus’ words, over the fact that if he does get to make Lassi come in the next ten minutes, it won’t change the fact that Lassiter still doesn’t believe that Shawn’s not going anywhere.

And that matters. Shawn frowns and he doesn’t care if Lassi is watching him or not. It matters to Lass, obviously or he wouldn’t be freaking out like a virgin on prom night, or at least, how Shawn imagines a virgin on prom night would freak out; he hadn’t actually attended his prom and if he had, the only virginity he would have been worrying about would have been his own.

The point is: it matters to Lassi, and that matters to Shawn, just the same way that it matters that Gus had gotten over his discomfort to give him advice, and that’s why later Shawn was going to order Gus’ his favorite dish here and take it home for him. Lassi just…he just doesn’t get that yet.

This _might_ be what Gus was talking about that whole time that Shawn had been trying to focus on the way that hot tattooed guy out to keep the Mummy from bringing his dead girlfriend back to life had seemed to enjoy glaring at the scoundrelly brother’s scoundrelly-ness.

“Gus tells me the no sex thing on a first date is very important,” Shawn tells Lassi mid-thought, because he’s still trying to figure it out for himself but the silence has gone on for a while. But Lassiter actually blinks and stops trying to inch away from him. Like it’s all very important. Like he’s actually listening to Shawn without Shawn having to wave his hands around or sit in his lap first. Shawn puts a hand up anyway, not that Lassi appears to be making any moves to jump him. He sighs. “I know, it sounds crazy, but I was thinking…well it does seem to work for Gus… The few times he actually gets a date without my help.”

He’s already looked at the floor, could close his eyes and number the tiles if he wanted, actually, so he glances over at the sink, and then back to Lassipants, who is squinting at him. He looks suspicious again, and Shawn tries a shrug. It’s not like he’s trying to be so hot that Lassi can’t resist him, but he does grin slightly when the move makes Lassi’s eyes drop, just for a second, to his opened fly and the tentpole in his underwear.

Lassi immediately looks back up and glares at him for noticing him noticing. Shawn meets his stare, but allows his hands to fall back. His palms feel damp, greasy or sweaty, probably greasy. Because even with the way his stomach is flopping around, he has never been the sweaty palms type.

“Are you serious, Spencer?” Lassi grunts into the quiet. He hasn’t stepped back yet, at least not anymore, and Shawn’s not going anywhere until he does. Not unless he wants to slink past Lass…and against his body…which is an idea but not one he’s willing to commit to. Yet.

Lassiter leans his head to one side and sniffs, as though he can smell if Shawn’s lying. Which he can’t, and anyway, he’s not.

“There’s an actual rule you’ll follow?” Lassi goes on, glaring even harder, then swallowing whatever he’d been about to say and saying something else. “I thought that according to Shawn Spencer, rules were just things to get around.”

“Well it _is_ more fun that way.” Said with a winning smile, it makes Lassi snort softly, an almost amused one this time, like that’s what he’d expected Shawn to say all along. It’s actually a good thing, because Lass is suspicious, but he’s still with him, following all the right breadcrumbs and Shawn is currently very uncomfortable the way he is and there’s no way he’s going home in this condition, rules or no rules.

“But after the date is over, that’s something else, right?” Shawn wonders, perhaps a touch too innocently, and Lassiter instantly straightens up.

“What? Why?” The eyebrow is up, but Shawn decides to ignore it. He closes his eyes for a second, resting one hand at his waist. He’s very warm right now, he can feel it through his shirt and that’s Carlton’s fault so he keeps going, past his t-shirt, past the edge of his jeans, pausing at the waistband of his boxers.

His underwear is going to be a problem, but it’s one he’s gotten around before, like all the best kinds of challenges. Shawn leans back into the wall, wriggling just a little when he slips his hand past the elastic and the smallest amount of cool air hits his very heated skin.

Oh yeah, it’s just like being at home, except that Lassi is right there in the flesh with him, and he’s glad his palm is damp so he can stroke himself once or twice in “hello, Little Shawn, we are about to have some fun” kind of way without it being painful.

Slow, he tells himself as seriously as he can considering that even with his eyes closed he knows his face is still on the red side. If he had watched, he could have mirrored Carlton’s grip, but he has had a lot of practice reliving that moment and adjusts his hold, squeezing once, then stroking himself again. Sogood. So. Good. More than worth it, even when Carlton finally notices what he’s doing.

His breath stutters out and Shawn manages a grin before he opens his eyes. Lassi’s eyes are huge, skittering to the door next to them that’s obviously still locked, and then back down to Shawn’s hand, and Shawn’s dick, and what Shawn’s hand is doing to Shawn’s dick.

“What…” Lassi has to clear his throat to keep going, but his voice had dropped into the lower registers of his sex voice anyway. Shawn’s cock twitches against his hand and he has to suck in air. Lassi of course, just stares at him, all hot, shocked blue. “What are you doing?”

Shawn pushes his thumb under the head of cock and has to thrust away from the wall, just for a moment. Lass had had his other hand on Shawn’s hip, gripping hard, and he’d been breathing hard, hard just like he was now, struggling. His breath had been wet in his ear, against his neck. Shawn had leaned forward, put his mouth against Lassiter’s shirt, tasted the rough fabric.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” he gets out, just to make Lassi blink. If he could he’d laugh at the way Lassiter is just watching him. Except that Lassiter is just watching him, and it’s way too sexy. Shawn feels his gaze go to the pink blush working its way up Lassiter’s throat to his face, feels it stop at Lassiter’s surprised, open mouth. “Okay,” Shawn adds and Lassiter blinks, inches forward. “I’m j-a-c-k-i…”

“Spencer…” The growl cuts him off. Shawn forces his gaze up to Lassiter’s eyes.

“I’m…” Shawn starts, then chokes on words that are possibly more embarrassing than what he’s doing. He lowers his head to stare at Carlton’s shoulder. “I _might_ be…” Good rule, always leave an out, even if you are jerking yourself off in front of the object of your desire in a Thai restaurant bathroom. “…Proving to you…” Shawn pulls in another breath and changes his grip. Firm. Controlling. That’s what Carlton had felt like, like all he’d wanted had been for Shawn to come in his hand. Hard, sure strokes, his gaze intense, but Shawn had looked away. “…ThatIwantyoubutIcanwait,” he finishes in a rush, shutting his eyes again.

He knows why he looked away now. It’s the same reason why he’s still here. And Lassi isn’t dumb, he’s going to know too, eventually.

“This is your idea of waiting?” Lassi sounds amused again, maybe not as disbelieving as he should be, but he also sounds closer, and then he exhales, and Shawn can feel his breath, hot and wet on his neck. Shawn might…he might be moaning a little at that. That is _really_ embarrassing. Lassi is just _breathing_.

Except that Lassi is also still there, not only still there, but closer. So close it might be construed as torture even under the current legal statutes, so close that the front of Shawn’s body _burns_. He forces out Carlton’s name, and his voice shakes, and his palm is slick.

Gus wouldn’t want to puke if he knew what this felt like. Worse than interrogation, better than jacking off alone.

Lassi’s other hand had spread wide on his hip, so Shawn presses himself back to the wall, the memory instantly replaced with something new when Lassiter just follows that too. Still close, still not touching him. There’s just his breath slipping under his shirt, and Shawn’s skin is so hot the touch seems cool and damp. He shivers, tries not imagine Carlton’s fingers on him.

“Spencer.” Lassiter isn’t getting past his name, and Shawn shudders before he gets his eyes open. He can see the familiar grey in Lassi’s sideburns, and a spot of sweat, and the movement of Lassi’s eyes as he sweeps his gaze down, trying to look.

He can look all he wants, that should be obvious, not that Shawn wants him to step back.

Lassi hasn’t actually laid a hand on him. He’s not sure whether to be disappointed about that or not, because there’s this dark, hot, bordering-on-dangerous space between them now and he can’t see much of anything that isn’t Carlton, Carlton who is still just watching him, watching his hand slide up and down his cock while he’s frowning and red in the face, his breathing hard and labored.

Shawn curls his other hand around the doorjamb, and guesses that both of Lassi’s hands are fists at his sides from the set of his shoulders. He could move, could “accidentally” let the back of his hand bump into Lassi. Lassi is breathing so hard, heavy against the shell of Shawn’s ear, timed with every upward stroke of Shawn’s hand.

Lassiter remembers that first encounter too. How he’d gone slow when Shawn had wanted fast, the way he’d stopped let his fingers linger somewhere new, the way Shawn had wiggled around and begged at that. Said his name, said, “OhgodyespleaseLassi!” and meant it.

“OhgodyespleaseLassi!” It’s his fingers providing the rough friction but it’s Lassi hot against him and fighting to find air.

“You’re crazy, Spencer.” Lassi’s words are tight, and he lifts his head to glare at shadows and tiled walls and anyone who might possibly be watching this. He’s not glaring when he glances back at Shawn.

It’s completely paranoid, but Shawn’s not about to argue. He’s doing the opposite of arguing really, pushing away from the wall and toward all the heat in front of him, stopping just before he gets to touch. He has to shut his eyes again, focus on anything else, on those last three dates, on Hornstock. It…almost hurts…thinking of him and all the touching he got to do, and he makes another noise that draws Lassi’s eyes back to him.

He really…it’s pathetic how much he wants to touch Lassi, like all the time, like right now, like how much he wouldn’t mind not touching Lassi if Lassi was touching him, because if Lassi were Shawn and Shawn were watching Lassi do this—and there’s a thought that has him gasping and twisting—he wouldn’t have been as still as Lassi, wouldn’t even have had the thought that he should be. He definitely wouldn’t be putting his arms on either side of him and leaning over him, making this space that isn’t really dangerous so much as really safe, and maybe that’s what makes it so dangerous. All the bad guys are gone. It is just the two of them, and Carlton is watching Shawn’s _face_ now while he jacks off.

He ought to be squirming. He _is_ squirming, sweating now, itchy droplets under his shirt where he wishes Carlton would put his hands. His body is tight, his back straight even when he falls against the wall and stares right back into Carlton’s face.

He wants Lassi to touch him like he promised he would.

Lassiter’s teeth are clenched, his nostrils flared because he can’t breathe with his mouth closed like that, can’t get enough air, but he’s not going to open his mouth. Because he wants to. Because Lassi wants to touch him too.

Rules are dumb. Gus is dumb for having them. Lassi is dumb for believing in them. And Shawn is dumb for hanging out with the two of them.

He’s also dumb for looking down, letting his hand stray just enough to get a good impression.

“Like the show?” It’s not light and flirty, not with his voice thick and rough, not with the way Lassiter’s eyes immediately widen. The fact that Lassi’s hard doesn’t surprise him, it’s the way his knees almost buckle to know it, the way he wants to fall forward. Distraction is called for. Anything, because he can’t stop his hand, quick and firm and Lassi-sure, and he can’t stop looking. He uses his thumbnail, just for a second. It hurts, so, so good. He’d pulled Lassiter’s hair, let Lassi grunt at the same sharp needle feeling. So hot, like Lassiter’s mouth.

Lassiter blowing him. Nowhere near as good as Shawn, but somehow so sweet. So not Lassi. Embarrassed and blushing and in the costume. Shawn’s memory fires it all back at him, to torture him, and he whimpers when he speaks again. “You…you ought to wear black more often.”

Not really a joke. He can barely talk so he can’t really manage amusement. It comes out quieter and Shawn writhes again, uncomfortable with that much truth out there. His cock is one thing, he knows Lassiter likes that; he’s just not so sure about the truth.

“No, really,” he gasps out deliberately to make sure Lassi gets that he’s only kidding, then jumps and lets out what is undeniably another low moan when Lassiter slaps a hand over his mouth, just as big and warm as before.

He’s leaning, stepping in closer, and Shawn stretches into him, shuddering at the fabric moving against the back of his hand. He opens his mouth of course, continuing to speak against Carlton’s palm, turning his head to let Carlton know that it’s okay if he wants to drop his head and growl some more into Shawn’s ear. More than okay, it would be awesome. He licks too, once or twice, because he can’t help it. Carlton is salty and clean, damp, and Shawn swallows.

Carlton doesn’t growl any more, which ought to be sad, but he’s staring at Shawn from just inches away, his mouth falling open at last when Shawn moves his lips to form his name against his palm.

 _Lassi._

“Jesus. Shawn.” Even choked out, it drives Shawn crazy when Lassi caves and finally admits he has a first name. Against the rules or not, Shawn leaves the wall, grabbing Carlton’s suit jacket with his other hand, yanking him closer, until there’s no space at all, and Lassiter can feel exactly what he’s doing, how fast he’s getting, aching and close just from being around him.

Weird, but not. Lassi is gasping too, grasping at Shawn’s sides to stay up, maybe to keep his hands off himself, though he doesn’t have to, even if that might really turn this into outright breaking of the rules instead of just getting around them.

Shawn can hear his phone ringing again, the same song that he’s going to have to change unless he wants to get aroused every time Gus calls him, which is just creepy and wrong, but he doesn’t hesitate, and neither does Lassi. It’s like it’s not even there, not quite loud enough to block out the edge to Lassi’s voice or the way he’s panting, just loud enough to give him ideas, to make his mouth water and his body arch up tightly.

“Just…end it, Spencer.” It doesn’t even matter what he’s talking about, the call, Shawn’s little masturbatory session, his stupid obsession with the rules. Shawn angles his head up and Lassi’s hand falls away from his mouth, slides down over his chest and stomach, covering Shawn’s hand for a second, just a second, loose and hot. Lassi’s mouth hovers over his, hesitates, and it’s not Shawn who’s moaning.

“Cheater,” Shawn tries to hide his surprise and then scratches at Carlton’s jacket when the song starts up again, shoving the coat aside to find Lassi’s shirt, his chest. His fingers curl and Lassiter turns his head so fast so that his breath catches against Shawn’s ear.

“Shawn.” Lassi says it like a warning, and then his hand is back, pushing Shawn’s aside, totally cheating yet totally _amazing_ , because he squeezes once, warm, fantastic, tight pressure that’s just right, or maybe it’s the way he’s choking out Shawn’s name against his neck. His other hand grips hard, slamming against his side and sliding to his hip, staying there, and Shawn lets himself inch down, lets his legs slide apart. Carlton’s hold instantly gentles, petting lightly over bare skin.

He was wrong before. This is what it will be when Carlton fucks him.

Shawn gasps and then he’s coming, arching up into heat and shutting his eyes. He can’t breathe and then he can again, too much too fast. His stomach and Lassi’s hand are wet, and Lassiter is still pressed to his side. Shawn twists toward him, his skin burning and his mouth dry. His body feels very heavy.

Conveniently, there’s a Lassiter there to hold him up. That’s good, since this is partly Lassi’s fault. He’d practically been asking for it, with his squid-fights and his talk about _Friends_.

“You cheater, cheater pumpkin eater,” Shawn remarks, not really caring how out of breath he sounds. Lassi always surprises him at the best times. Shawn pets his chest once or twice, groping him just for the fun of it. Then he returns the favor and surprises the hell out of Lassiter by staying right where he is, and letting Lassiter think about that fact while not saying a word.

The body around him is very tense. Very, very tense. But after a minute or two Lassi snorts against his ear, so maybe he hasn’t considered yet how he’s supposed to get out of this bathroom in his condition without a show of his own.

“You didn’t ask if I wanted to wait, Spencer.” Is all Lassi says for a minute or two, and that’s fine, since Shawn is still working on opening his eyes. Also it just feels good. Lassiter makes these fierce little sounds into his skin when Shawn doesn’t move. Soft little grunts and growls under his ear. Like a reward. Shawn is a fan of getting a reward for something he would be doing anyway. And he definitely wants to be keep on doing this.

That had been one of the rules too. He’s supposed to find out what his date wants somewhere in between the flirty banter and the establishing trust. Shawn considers that, then forgets it because regular dates also do not include spanking his monkey in front of the Lassiface, or the Lassiface breaking the rules to make him happy, or the Lassiface growling against his neck.

So he’s not going to say a word this time. Nothing is going to ruin this, not even another round of “I close my eyes and see you before me” or more buzzing from his pocket that is probably Gus telling him off, or the sudden knock on the bathroom door.

Whoever it is sounds really irritated. They must really have to pee.

Carlton practically jumps to his feet and gives Shawn the Evil Eye once again, as though he hadn’t gone along with the whole bathroom sex scenario of his own free will. Or the dating thing. Or the choice of this restaurant.

Shawn just shrugs and acts like he doesn’t see it when Lassi gives him the Look. He can direct the Look at the door, which he does a second later, after one tight, frustrated glare between the two of them. And Shawn has to smile, because Lassi really is entertaining when he’s frustrated.

“So you pick the place next time,” he offers after a moment, just to make it up to him, and Lassi clenches his jaw again, so hard he could have cracked walnuts.


End file.
